Wicked Virtuoso In Your Shadow
Poetry
Oh, p-leez, gimme a break, so what if I say wicked? Or evil is more appropriate? And stop those scrutinizing brows; this is of no inept revelation. And why begin it as eloquently as this is? Simple. Arrogance and hypocrisy within the breeze of air that surrounds me is as callous as they are overwhelmingly alluring and good-looking. Yes, I speak of a sheep in a wolf's clothing, a metaphor you wish not to plummet into nor be one of its allies. Nor do I. Not in a million years. Beware, on land, on moon, on space, the wicked paranoia may never come as a visible being but in a tacit, truculent silence, like a shadow lurking behind your every step. Some maybe inopportune as they are empirical and wise for I myself bushwhacked few of them, catching the drift, turning my back, and kindly letting them live their crazed life, hearing things but letting it out of my system the second it hits me. So, I was born with it, the so-called intellectually vital vision and outstanding senses. I sense the real, the fake, the filthy. I sense which has heart, which has not. When you are a Virgo as the writer is, you are one with the nature; you are a virgin who symbolizes purity of the mind- the ability to grasp things logically. What others say has never staunched me, never trampled me, never put me down. Sheep in a wolf's clothing- more of an ethnic joke than a human being. Jogging up my memories, the bad ones have all but not vanished. But these made me stronger like my Shihan's innate and apparent strength. Fear never reverberates through me, slap me and I'll break your nose, hurt me and you'll wish you we never alive. So here goes nothing- I am a girl, a powerful femininity flows through me, a strong spirit, a determination as strong as Malcolm X's and a mind as clear as a tranquil Black Sea. Never fear, never hesitate, speak out and be heard, let no wolf clothing scare you.
Then there goes the pin-pointer- who points his faults to...
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